Just a Vacation
by Mistress X
Summary: Jane and Thor offer Darcy the opportunity of a lifetime. However, a much needed respite becomes catastrophic when Darcy stumbles upon the other, prodigal prince of Asgard.
1. Preface

PREFACE

* * *

The 'it's just not going to work' line is pretty infamous.

You can fluff it up as much as you want but what it really comes down to is either A) I'm tired of fucking you or B) I found someone new to fuck. Blunt. But hey, I've been through this before. I'm entitled to a little cynicism.

So, it came as no surprise that tall, dark, and brooding decided playtime was over. I just didn't expect it first date, mid-orgasm.

"Oooh, yeah. Fuck-no, no, no!" Tyler withdraws like my pussy just went into a vaginismus fit and scrambles away from our entwined limbs.

"Um," I blink and control my panting. "What's the problem?"

"Sorry, Darcy," He fists through our tangled clothes and tosses a crumpled picture on the bed. "I can't do this."

The picture is grayscale with a white circle surrounding a human blip. A flash of gold slips around his left ring finger and my gut twists. Fantastic. I can cross home-wrecker off my bucket list.

"A father shouldn't be doing shit like this," He shimmies into his jeans and grabs that absurd chevron sweater. "It was just your breasts and dammit Nancy and I haven't—"

"Dude, don't make this worse," I wrinkle my nose and sink underneath the comforter, fishing for my shirt, underwear, anything.

"Maybe you could have worn something less revealing, and I wouldn't have even—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you serious?" I choke and say, "Are you seriously blaming your infidelity on my tits?"

"You didn't have to dress like such a slut—"

"And this is where we say GOODBYE, Tyler. Nice knowing you. Get the fuck out." My head tilts toward the door and it takes an act of God to keep my hands firmly knotted in the sheets.

He makes some other choice remarks, shoves Junior in his pocket, and stomps down the hallway. A few more snarky, muffled comments and … cue door slam.

And just like that, I'm left alone, sticky (ew), and nauseated – feelings usually saved for the morning walk of shame, but now come to torment me early. I find the aforementioned V-neck shirt and reprimand my breasts for being adulterous co-conspirators before tossing it in the laundry bin. I stand, stretch, and shuffle around the apartment searching for purpose.

_I need a shower. Scalding hot. Loofa. Almond scrub. Now._

Ding-ding!

"Oh, who could it be?" I gasp, dramatically, and read the text.

DARCY. CALL NOW. – JANE

"Oh, shit," I fumble through Contacts, hit Send, and press the phone hard against my ear.

Jane answers on the first ring, full-blown ramble, "Darcy! Oh God, Darcy! You'll never believe it, the readings were so bizarre, and then that cosmic burst of energy and—oh, oh God, I'm being so rude, am I disturbing you?"

"Jane," I sigh and say, "It's three in the morning, we're past the point of disturbing."

"Sorry, sorry, but, Darcy. He's back. Thor. In my kitchen and—"

"And the first thing you think of is to call me? Your ovaries must be shriveled like prunes, Jane."

"He wants to take me to Asgard, Darcy," She breathed.

My breath catches awkwardly in my throat, "For how long? And wasn't that rainbow bridge thing broken?"

A masculine voice interjects in the background about the fully functioning Bifrost and all of Asgard's finest working toward blah-blah-blah. Jane's voice rustles my attention.

"A few weeks, I look at it as a much needed vacation … will you come with us?"

"Right now?" I sputter and play a quick game of don't-drop-the-iPhone.

"Oh, no, of course not right now – wow, how ridiculous of me, I shouldn't have called so late. Will you think about it and call me back in the morning?"

This mystical land, now offered as something more than a myth, was more than a prime vacation spot – it would trump everything, forever. I hear Thor ramble about Asgardian tradition and his assumptions of what Midgardian women find attractive—flowers, clothes, food, games, yawn, yawn, yawn. But every so often he throws in a few words that spark my interest.

Your arrival would be celebrated with barrels upon barrels of mead and wine. (Sweet Jesus, yes.)

Our libraries are extensive and contain knowledge from all nine realms. (Drool.)

You will be my honored guests, free to do as you wish. (Royal guests? Niiice.)

"That all sounds … perfect," I smile and excitement rushes across my face, flutters in my chest, and tumbles within me. "Yes, I'll go with you guys. But no awkward third-wheel stuff, okay?"

Jane squeals like a pre-pubescent girl, sputters through the itinerary, and asks me five times if I'll remember everything before she allows me to disconnect. But the mind is funny how it drifts from anticipation to rational detachment. Or in my case sarcasm.

"At least no one will label me a clandestine, adulterous slut in Asgard," I muse aloud and fantasize about a steamy, long, skin-scrapping shower.


	2. Absinthe

Chapter One – Absinthe

_Make me your Aphrodite,  
Make me your one and only,  
But don't make me your enemy._

Katy Perry – "Dark Horse"

* * *

_This stuff isn't half bad_, Darcy thought and nursed her second stein of mead. She circled golden swirls with her fingernails, tapped each gemstone around the handle, and smirked.

"Nope, definitely not dollar store plastic," She mused aloud and received a small pinch on her hand. "Ow, dude!" She cried and pinched Jane right back.

"Really, Darcy?" Jane whispered through a toothy grin and annunciated, "We. Are. At. The. Head. Table."

"Correction – we are at the _end_ of the head table, pretty damn far away from your 'dear friend Thor' as pirate Santa and Xena-warrior-wannabe pointed out. Can you believe they actually said that to you? Freakin' rude."

"_Darcy_," Jane hissed. "You did not just refer to the All-Father, Odin, Thor's father as—"

"Blah, blah, blah. Don't need a history lesson. God or not, it was _rude_." Darcy took a longer swig only to receive another pinch. She choked mid-glug, cleared her throat several times, and spoke slowly, "_Jane_—if you make me bruise I'm calling DCF."

"Just slow it down, okay? This alcohol has a complex molecular structure and a long half-life for us and I don't think I brought enough Ibuprofen to—"

"Warning noted, Mom." Darcy sighed and pushed the stein away sadly. "You, _my dear friend_, are the Queen of buzz-kills. Can Thor even keep it up around you?"

"Does this celebration bore you so that you must banter like parlor maids?" Sif quietly interjected from behind them.

"Shiiit," Darcy scrunched her nose and faced the fiery Goddess.

The warrior kneeled between the two women and spread her fingers across their chairs. She spoke from a tight-lipped smile, "If what Lady Darcy indeed speaks is truth, consider yourself honored to share such an intimate moment with our Prince."

"Moment_s_," Darcy smirked and watched Sif burst aflame.

Jane sputtered a long, squeaky apology. The warrior maiden remained silent, nostrils flared, and cheeks a vibrant purple. Darcy tip-toed her fingers over to the stein, hesitated on the handle, darted her eyes to Jane, and dragged it closer. When that maneuver went unnoticed, she quickly pounded back more mead. Sweet honey, orange, and hints of clove tickled her nose and bubbled deep within her stomach. Darcy contemplated throwing the stein on the floor and bellowing "Another" but a stern voice rustled her decision.

"The company of jesters does not keep well here, Lady Jane," Sif rose and her bangles cast a brilliant amber light across the table. "It would be wise to keep Lady Darcy on a short leash, lest she be found roaming with the rabble." She excused herself and strode over to a rowdy group of warriors.

"I am pretty sure she just referred to me as your bitch," Darcy snorted and continued, "But in a really regal way, which is almost commendable. And kinda hot."

"Darcy please," Jane begged, her eyes downcast. "This is really important to me."

Those few words made Darcy squirm and her gut twist. She really wanted to blame the mead. Or the fact that she was incredibly nervous. Like need to wear depends "just in case" nervous. She was only a few chairs away from elves, dwarves, and—no big deal here—the Queen of Asgard. Frigga lavished Jane and Darcy with hand-woven gowns, jewelry, personal handmaidens, and warm embraces right off the Bifröst. She would never be able to reciprocate such extravagant kindness. Darcy was overwhelmed and flailing in her only coping mechanism.

"I'm sorry," Darcy grumbled and made lazy circles around the lip of her stein. "I will try to be on my best behavior. For you. Honest injun."

"My Lady?" A familiar soprano voice inquired.

Darcy was greeted by Sjöfn, the Queen's loaner handmaiden, and her infectious smile. She presented a tall, crystalized flute with a clouded green liquid and said, "For you."

"Oh, thank you." Darcy took immediate notice of the singular drink and asked, "Um, shouldn't Jane get one too?"

"My Lady, this liquor was intended for you alone," Sjöfn gestured with her eyes to the expansive balcony shrouded with marble columns and draperies. The handmaiden pouted at her hesitation. "That is the correct Midgardian courtship custom, is it not?"

"Yeah, yeah – buying a woman a drink, its fine." Darcy stammered and clasped the stem, surprised by the chill against her fingertips. She took a tentative sip, gingerly letting the liquid sweep her lips. She pressed her mouth in a hard line and only recognized licorice amongst the exotic spices. Oh, but it was delicious.

Jane raised a defiant eyebrow and made a small, exasperated noise, "Did you forget the conversation we just had?"

"Listen, Momma duck," Darcy sighed, "You want me to fly straight, play nice with the other kids? Then I'm going to need liquid courage." She took a longer sip, savoring the intoxicating flavors.

"If I may be so bold, my Lady," The handmaiden pressed, hazel eyes darting to the balcony once more. "You may wish to thank your suitor."

"That would be the proper thing to do, _right_?" Darcy asked Jane, her voice dripping sarcasm. Jane responded with a scrunched nose and another irritated huff.

Darcy rose, flute in hand, and turned to her friend. "_Lady Jane_," She exaggerated and curtsied. "Don't wait up, honey. Unless you know, you're into that sort of thing." She winked at Jane whom exhaled, shaking her head in obvious embarrassment.

Sjöfn escorted her through uproarious Asgardian warriors—Sif included, whom appeared to have forgotten their recent dispute and was reminiscing about battles with that fruity-looking Robin Hood. Darcy pushed past intoxicated dwarven advances and a whirlwind of dancing elves. After her third polite decline for a dance, she decided on another swig of green liquor for luck. She closed her eyes and sighed. Damnit, this stuff was dangerous.

Sjöfn cleared her throat and Darcy's lids flew open to towers of ivory and gold. How did they get here already? Darcy fidgeted with her purple gown and bronze girdle, which highlighted and accentuated her breasts. She still had no idea how that was humanly possible but, kudos to the Queen. She had talent.

The handmaiden parted back the gossamer fabric with one elegant stroke and bowed. Darcy swallowed hard and sauntered through a forest of glittering gold curtains.

Now was a horrible time to need the bathroom. Honestly, it was like her nerves and bladder had a mainline connection. Oh, you're meeting someone that has shown some vague interest in you? Let me ruin this moment with an urge to piss. Her heart thumped erratically against her sternum. Each beat was swift and hard. This was ridiculous.

_What the fuck, Darcy_, she thought and chided her insides, _Relax and grow a pair!_

It wasn't like she was never offered a drink from a man. Or a woman for that matter, but that was only one time. And Darcy was nineteen. And it was really, really awkward. She refused to dwell on it further and strode through the last curtain …

To nobody.

The balcony was empty save for two gold-plated benches scattered with steins and serving trays. An occasional, non-descript shadow was cast from filigreed torches and a large candelabra. A string quartet was playing muffled harmonies in the distance. She was alone.

Darcy exhaled, mortified that she held her breath for a ding-dong-ditcher. This was, unfortunately, nothing new. Rejection and disappointment were her old frenemies. Those bitches were always ready for a surprise visit with a bottle of self-pity.

"Fuck you," She huffed into twilight, "Whoever you are, you have no balls. You could have told me in person you weren't interested. But oh no, keep up the mindfuckery."

Darcy gulped down the last drops of green liquor. A cool breeze raised hairs on her bare back. She trembled from the change in temperature, sniffed once and rounded her shoulders for an intergalactic throw. She fantasized about the glass sailing over the balcony and knocking that arrogant shit out. It would give her such satisfaction.

But a guttural noise and stifled moans made her pause. She cautiously placed the flute on a serving tray and peered over the balcony. She leaned over the edge, grasping the beam for support, and scanned the scenery. It was, as she expected, dramatic and picturesque. Curling trellis vines wrapped around columns, a grove of what seemed to be endless apple trees on the horizon, a golden fountain encircled by ivory benches, Jane and Thor fucking, a marble statue of pirate Santa riding a gigantic horse into battle—

Darcy squawked and hit the floor. She clasped her hands over her open mouth, afraid that her own breathing would be too loud. Since when was Jane a risky, brazen glamazon that screwed Gods in gardens? She sulked and felt duped by that holier-than-thou act earlier. She scrambled and plastered her back against the marble.

The balcony would conceal her voyeurism for now. Darcy would sprint through the palace, drink at least two more steins of mead, and this whole evening would soon be forgotten. Until the morning anyway. And then Jane was getting a verbal bashing so bad her ears would bleed.

The plan was flawless. Except for one little problem. Darcy had company.

"I had envisioned Jane Foster more energetic," The tall, dark-haired man pondered aloud, walking closer to her crouched body. "Does she always express her pleasure in such a manner?"

_Oh, holy fuck_, Darcy thought and winced. She wondered how fast this juicy information would spread across the kingdom. Pirate Santa would shit bricks.

The man appeared to enjoy her unease for he smirked, slid down to her, and leaned against the balcony. His leather armor lightly grazed her arm and erupted an army of goose bumps.

"Enlighten me, Darcy Lewis," He said, his voice smooth as silk, "Are all Midgardian women poor bedmates? For this display is mediocre at best."

Her heart pounded against her chest. She had a reserve of snarky remarks lined up and ready but, her mouth remained dry and sealed. Darcy was paralyzed beneath his artic gaze.

"Oh, come now," He sighed, blue eyes narrowing and scrutinizing her face. "What has become of your quick-witted tongue? You begin to make me regret my gift."

She frowned. He didn't give her anything. Except for maybe a nice S&M fantasy for later on account of all his leather—suddenly, his green undershirt jolted across her weary synapses and attached to the liquor. The smell and taste of licorice flooded her senses. Her blood burned but, she chose her words wisely. No need to piss off an Asgardian, just make him sweat a little.

Her voice was unwavering and sarcastic. "How can I explain this nicely … You buy a lady a drink, act all mysterious, and leave her questioning her own self-worth? Talk about a terrible first impression."

"It was not my intention to make you wait, and for that I apologize, but this form is extremely limited." He said calmly and passed his hand through her body. The interaction caused green and gold sparks to spring from his fingertips. Darcy felt nothing.

"Whoa," She breathed, mesmerized by his shimmering form. "Are you a hologram projecting from somewhere else?"

"Perceptive," He said and intertwined his fingers, causing the glimmer to cease. "I am … detained for the moment, until a suitable decision is made for my transgression."

"Nice word play," She said and smirked, "Maybe you could coerce some other bimbo, but you don't fool me, _convict_."

"And knowing this, you still wish to converse with me?"

"I've been around some real _winners_," Darcy said flatly and shithead Tyler flickered in her memory, pulling on that hideous chevron sweater. Gray and teal and fucking retarded. She jostled her mind before yet another unwanted thought threated to ruin the evening. "You don't even come close. What did you do to get locked up anyway? Steal and sniff some underwear with your parlor tricks?"

"How little you know of me, mortal woman," He laughed, baring a set of perfect white teeth. He resembled a feral animal, howling into the night. Darcy found it strangely erotic. She steered her thoughts away from being forcefully bent over the balcony, dress torn apart, and fucked stupid by his magic fingers.

"Well," She speculated aloud, clearing her throat and mind, "I do know you're some kind of wizard or sorcerer. Which is pretty impressive, I guess, if you're into that stuff."

"And are you, Darcy Lewis?" His voice was suddenly low, dark, and suggestive. "Do you desire enchantment?"

His questions sparked a hot rush and deep ache within her body. She inhaled the night air deeply, certain he was watching her breasts rise, and smirked again. _No man, Asgardian or otherwise, can resist these twin knockouts_, she thought and beamed.

Darcy passed her hand through his arm, captivated by the glittery bursts beneath her fingertips, and spoke softly, "I desire something real, mystery man. I can't have much fun with an illusion."

"I concur," He purred and snatched her fingers, causing her hand to shimmer gold with green bursts of light. He languidly brought her hand to his mouth and paused.

She writhed in his grasp, blatantly showing her impatience, and Darcy swore she felt his cold kiss and teeth graze across her hand. She shivered and watched his form shift from tangible to transparent.

His last words reverberated against the marble and her skull, "But I rather enjoy our mindfuckery, don't you?"

And just like that, Darcy was left alone and horny for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She would have taken care of her little, throbbing problem right there but, buzzkill Jane's squeaky gasps caused her libido to shrivel like a raisin. Her caveman partner and his monkey-like grunts didn't help either. It was like a bad audio-book porn. Darcy almost expected him to bellow, "Thor ready! Oof-oof! Thor cum!"

Darcy exhaled and stood slowly, feeling her legs wobble. She made a mental note to tell Jane about her lackluster performance. She contemplated if 'Dude, your sac skills suck. Karma sutra that shit up. Love, Me" written on a pink sticky note and plastered to Jane's forehead was a good enough effort.

She dragged her legs forward, stunned by that strange man and his influence over her body. Her thoughts drifted again to his wolfish smile. She envisioned his incisors clipping her pert nipples, his long fingers pressing hard against her lower back, and pushing her breasts in his open mouth.

_Dammnit, shit, dammnit, fuck_, Darcy mentally cursed and tried to shake those erotic thoughts away, but the apex of her thighs seared in protest. She strained her ears and hoped Jane or Thor would douse her lusty fantasies but, alas, they were finished.

She kicked an overturned stein out of her path and pushed back the golden, twinkling draperies. Darcy grumbled a few more choice words aloud and stomped toward the land of rambunctiousness, intoxication, and bad decisions.

She was really grateful for stuffing a dildo in her carry-on luggage. But because of mister clit-tease the master of illusion, maybe she should have brought two, because this one was getting destroyed.


End file.
